To Be A Queen
by adrian11
Summary: Taylor is a victim. She keeps her head down and takes people's shit. Until she triggered with the biggest ego of all: that of Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes. At least she has his bullshit powers to back it up.
1. Coronation

It was dark. Thank god, it was dark. She could still smell it, the putrid stench of fermenting tampons intermingled with her own vomit making her dry heave. But she couldn't see them, had only caught a glimpse of them before she'd been shoved in here. That made it easier. It was, admittedly, a paltry consolation to the fact she was surrounded on all sides by used tampons left to rot, crouched in a dark locker not made to hold a teenage girl of slightly above average height. But it was something.

She briefly admired the amount of time and dedication they must have put into this little stunt. This was in a different league of bullying, far surpassing in size and scope anything she'd seen or heard of in person or on the net. Maybe not in the area of physical violence, thankfully less common among female adolescents, but they'd really gotten down and dirty with this one. Pulled out all the stops. No holds barred.

That was another thing, she supposed. Sure she was bullied, but not by wimps, or those who hurt others to hide crippling inner insecurities. No, her bullies were sadists of the highest order, queens among petty vindictive bitches everywhere. Let it never be said that Taylor Herbert settled for anything less than the best.

It was an empty reassurance. These were thoughts she occupied herself with so she wouldn't give in to the intense pressure of tears behind her eyes, to avoid suffering a total breakdown. After all, that's what they wanted, in the depth of their cold bitchy hearts. They wanted to see her crying on her knees, supplanted before them and unable to form a coherent thought through the overwhelming mental anguish she was suffering. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She wouldn't allow them to hear the sobbing she was barely holding back. _I hate them_, she thought fiercely. _I hate them so much_.

She held onto that anger, blocking out anything but the righteous indignation bubbling in her chest and overwhelming the tears that were now the furthest thing from her mind. She'd repay them for this. Her vengeance would be terrible. She'd _destroy_ them. She stewed impotently in her fury, fantasies of painful retribution playing through her head like a broken record, each time more out of tune with the morals and ideals that normally bound her.

She stroked the fire of her anger, building it up methodically on a thousand tiny injustices, on the carcass of a friendship betrayed, on the stupid, petty, mindlessness of it all. She felt like she was straining for something just out of reach, on the edge of some great epiphany. Most of all though, more than Sophia's casual cruelty, Madison's catlike satisfaction or even Emma's still stinging betrayal of their old friendship, she resented herself. Her _weakness_. How helpless she was to do anything about the situation, even fight back. _I'll never be that person again._

A dam broke. She was alone, floating in space, except she wasn't really there, because she didn't have a body and could see everything in all directions. But that wasn't important. What was important were the two _things_,twisting madly through space in a double helix like the universes very own DNA. Their movements were too fast to comprehend, galaxies hurling through space at near the speed of light seeming almost stationary by comparison. The _things_, the entities themselves, were massive, larger than the earth, larger than the milky way, folding and unfolding through dimensions, more multifaceted than Johnny Depp on a good day. Taylor could barely wrap her mind around them, they were so outside of a human's regular frame of reference. Taylor had never been religious, it just hadn't been part of her upbringing, but she couldn't help but think _this is what god is supposed to look like_. She briefly toyed with the idea of this scene painted on the Sistine Chapel, though she knew no physical representation could do it justice.

Even as they moved forward, untouchable in their magnificence, Taylor could see the truth. They were trailing shards behind them, crumbling apart, burning out like falling stars. She should've known they wouldn't last, nothing good ever did. Mom didn't. Why would these two be any different? Almost against her will, her attention shifted to a specific piece of the debris the entities left behind. It glowed, standing out gloriously against the dull shards surrounding it. It was a mistake. They were just leaving excess behind, redundancies, non-vital functions. This was important. This was part of what made them so special. This was a mistake. As if all it had been waiting for was someone to recognize its importance, it blinked at her. The blink felt like _Appraisal_. She somehow managed to feel self-conscious even without a body. It blinked again, and this time it conveyed _Good Enough_, or some alien equivalent thereof. Taylor struggled to muster up enough pride to feel offended. Then everything exploded.

She was standing in front of golden gates glowing with the power of the sun, on the edge of a vast store of knowledge she could barely comprehend. She was mesmerized by the grandeur she saw within, and as she stared into the light, the light stared back into her. It changed her body, elevating it into something worthy of its magnificence. And it _burned_. It scorched the color from her retina, burning her skin even as it healed it, bleaching her hair with its light, her hair which was her last link to her mother after Emma destroyed her flute. The light filled her, and for a euphoric moment it was just her and the light, and everything was complete and perfect and _right_. And she understood, _this is mine_. This light, and all the treasures it contained within it, were _her's_. Then suddenly it was over, and she was just Taylor in a dirty locker alone in an empty school. But that wasn't exactly true. She and Taylor were as different as night and day.

She placed her hands on the locker door and pushed. It buckled, crumbling like tin foil and crashing into the opposing wall with a sound like satisfaction. Taylor tumbled out in an undignified heap. She pushed herself up and stared down at the disgusting filth staining her hair and clothes. Unacceptable.

A golden portal appeared before her, and she reached elbow deep before pulling out to reveal a crystal bottle filled with a clear liquid that shined imperceptibly in the darkness. She uncorked it with her teeth and took a gulp, the impurities covering her dissolving into nonexistence. The bottle disappeared back into the vault with a flash of yellow.

Now for her clothes. She didn't have anything of this era fitting her specifications, so she decided to discard subtlety in its entirety and replaced her boring clothes with a splendid golden armor accented in blue and a red cloth flowing from the back of her waist like the bottom half of a cloak. Much better. A part of Taylor, the reasonable voice that reminded her of her mother, said, _If we go home like that, Dad will know I have powers_.

The hero-Taylor, the one who'd just thrashed a locker one handed, said, _Let him know_. _We have nothing to hide_. A thought occurred to her. _Besides, who said we're going home right away?_

_Reasonable-Taylor had a bad feeling about this._

/

Her legs ached with restrained power as she walked at a sedate pace, enjoying the remaining light as the sun tucked behind the horizon, reflecting off the water of the bay. The thought of taking the bus left a bad taste in her mouth. As she strolled down the street casually, random passersby stopped and stared at her, some even taking pictures. She luxuriated in the attention, at the break from being boring bland Taylor Herbert. Occasionally she even stopped to pose. In an appropriately majestic manner, of course.

_Is this what Emma feels like?_ She wondered. Emma hadn't started her dabbling in the modeling business until she'd stabbed her in the back, so Taylor'd never gotten the chance to ask. _Forget her, _her conscious whispered_. We don't need her. We have powers now. We're special._

She watched the scenery get progressively sketchier as she moved closer to the docks. The passersby started looking less and less friendly and more and more intimidating or, failing that, gathered in a group. This was gang territory. Regular-Taylor would be cautious, wary of the danger of being a single woman in a bad neighborhood. Hero-Taylor, on the other hand, almost wished someone would try something, just to break the monotony. Finally growing bored of walking in public wearing solid gold armor, Taylor decided if no criminals were immediately apparent, she'd just have to find them.

Grabbing a young man with an Empire 88 tatoo on his left cheek by the throat, Taylor shoved him against the wall and kindly asked if he knew where she could find the nearest supervillain. He was reluctant at first, but Taylor managed to convince him of the urgency of her task with a few choice weapons from her vault. She didn't even have to cut him.

He directed her to a nearby dog-fighting ring, being presented by none other than Hookwolf himself, a real heavy hitter in the world of white supremacists. And a cape. Taylor felt a thrill run down her spine.

It was hardly the first thing that came to mind when you think "Illegal dog-fighting ring". It was a pharmaceutical store, small, quaint, conspicuous only because it looked so breathtakingly normal in such a run-down neighborhood. Taylor briefly wondered if she'd just gotten conned when she saw a pair of young men enter, one of which had 88 tattooed to the back of his neck. Well, that answers that question. She walked through the door in time to see the cashier bringing them into the back of the store. She smiled.

She followed them down some stairs into an unusually large basement. She heard it before she saw it, dozens of boos and cheers intermingled into a bloodthirsty call to arms. As she walked through the crowd, skinheads whispered in between themselves, pointing and gesturing in her direction. A mongrel finally got up the courage to confront her, no easy task for one of his ilk.

"You're not from 'round here. You a new recrui—

Taylor slapped him so hard he flew, bowling over several people in the process.

"The next time I hear any of you heathens associate yourselves with one such as myself, I'll kill you. Even whispering your name in the same breath as my own is deserving a fate worse than death. Be grateful for my mercy."

What did she just say? Taylor would never do something like that. She'd never had such an inflated sense her own self-worth, nor would she threaten someone just for trying to talk to her. Especially not a gang member, in a secret underground base surrounded by dozens of his buddies. She almost started to freak out, panicking at the retribution that was sure to come. They were already gathering themselves, getting out weapons, mumbling angrily between themselves.

Until she remembered one crucial fact: _she was a parahuman_. And not just any parahuman either, her power seemed like an infinite well, an avalanche barely held back by the walls of her restraint. _I could take all of them_, she realized. It wouldn't even be hard. It was on the cusp of this realization that she saw him, a giant of a man, covered from head to toe in metal spikes that emerged from his very skin. Hookwolf.

"You seem awfully confident, but I've never heard of you. Perhaps you'd do well to realize you're not the only parahuman in this club." His voice was gravelly, rough but not uncultured. This man was sharp, not just physically, but mentally. He seemed to think she'd be intimidated by him, and it gave her great pleasure to do exactly the opposite.

"And perhaps _you'd_ do well to realize when you're out of your league. Perhaps there's a reason no one's ever heard of me." No one missed the implication. _Go on Taylor, just keep digging that hole a little bit deeper_, she thought to herself morosely. She had no control over the situation. The only option was to escalate.

Plus, she was enjoying herself. This boasting, the threats, the chance to prove her superiority. It was tantalizing. She was standing up for herself for what felt like the first time, and nothing could stop her. Nothing.

Hookwolf seemed to have had enough of this back and forth, and she suspected he was just stalling to get his minions time to get out from under our feet. This was a parahuman fight, the big boy league. They didn't belong here.

The tension was building, and they were both eager for a fight. She could tell Hookwolf was strong, and he had a lot more experience both with his power and with fighting in general. But she was absolutely sure of her own victory. Despite never having actually fought once in her life, despite not even knowing what offensive powers she had at her disposal, she was completely confident. It was absurd. Even she could tell this was arrogance to the point of foolishness, but she couldn't stop. She was going to win. That was all that matters.

He charged forward, transforming into a giant wolf of whirring metal mid-jump. Damn, he was fast. But not fast enough. She smirked, and let go of the floodgates she was holding back. Pools of rippling golden light appeared around her, weapons sticking out and ready to launch. Each was unique and beautiful in its own way, a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Inhuman. They exploded forward, going from completely inert to breaking the sound barrier with a thought. Golden light trailed behind them, making them look almost like lasers to the uneducated mind. But they were much more dangerous.

Hookwolf dodged two, dashing to the right the second he saw the the golden pools of light. He wasn't stupid, this parahuman was obviously new, and had reason to believe their power was strong enough to take him down. That, or she was mad, which admittedly was probably the more likely option. The pools of light swerved towards him, and he wasn't fast enough to dodge the next barrage. They crashed into him like tank shells, physically rocking him back, crumpling his form wherever they pierced and exploding, causing even more widespread damage. Any ordinary parahuman, even a brute, would no doubt be dead. If it wasn't for the protection offered by his core, he would have died.

He briefly contemplated retreat in order to inform Kaiser of this new development, but it felt too much like cowardice. This was what he'd been waiting for. A worthy opponent. Someone that could make him feel that heady rush of fear and knows, his opponent might even manage to kill him. The thought sent a thrill down his spine. He abandoned the wolf form in its entirety, this time creating some kind of snake centipede hybrid. He encircled her and closed in, trying to constrict her in a sick parody of an iron maiden. He was curious if she could point her portals in more than a single direction. She did even better, placing them above him parallel to the ground and launched weapons that sheared through his body, pinning him to the floor. That material was abandoned, and he managed a quick retreat by rolling backward in a spiky ball. He disliked forms without limbs, but he couldn't afford to hold back here.

His retreat had created a cover of dust he could use to plan his next move—Slam! A weapon pierced through his center, almost getting his core and ending his life. More came and he rolled desperately to the left. He managed to look in her direction, and saw her standing in a relaxed posture, staring into an intricate mirror that floated before her. What sort of power did she have? The mirror was what she seemed to be using to find him so easily, as she didn't have to look up to keep firing in his direction. Some kind of tinker power? That'd explain the diversity, but she was too new to her powers and a tinker needed time in order to create their weapons.

He'd formulated an angle of attack. He rolled forward at his top speed, colliding violently with the weapons heading straight for him. He was literally ripped in two, but he'd weakened a crack in his body in such a way that when he ripped, his core was launched forward, continuing his previous momentum. He collided against the discarded carcass of the the metal snake and was instantly linked to every weapon that made it up. Now, this was the coup de grace. When he'd been intending to crush her, he'd placed weapons into the ground like the roots of a tree. He'd grown several branches directly under her and with a grunt of effort, they pierced upwards, impaling her where she stood. Her eyes widened with panic as she realized what was happening, before she was obscured by the dirt kicked up by the attack.

He heard the result before he saw it. A half-mad laugh escaped her throat, the completely honest, relieved laugh of someone who'd just avoided death by a hair. It went on just long enough to be uncomfortable before cutting off abruptly. The dust cleared and she stood there, completely unbothered, her armor pristine, not a hair out of place. The swords that had tried to pierce her armor were either broken or bent. And she was staring at him. She smiled.

Light exploded into existence around her, and he suddenly had hundreds of weapons aimed directly at his half destroyed spherical body. She raised a hand above her head, slowly, relishing her victory. For that was what it was. He'd played all his cards, and he'd been unable to even injure her. Perhaps if he could get at her head, the only part of her body uncovered by armor, he might've been able to kill her, but she'd never let him get that close again. He didn't bother backing up, there was nowhere to hide.

"You put up quite a fight, but in the end even you were unable to resist me. But you've caught my interest. If you beg, I might even let you live on as my personal servant." She was as arrogant as she'd been when he first met her, but he was beginning to think she might be justified in it. After all, was it really arrogance if you were _right_?

"I will die bested by a superior opponent, I have no regrets." That was a lie. True, he'd always imagined himself dying in some heroic last stand, ideally securing their cause for future generations. But he did have regrets. He regretted not being able to stay with Kaiser and watch the rise of a new and better world. He regretted that his death would be a huge setback for Empire 88, with no second in command ready to replace him. Maybe Purity, if Kaiser could convince her to join again. Victor might've been ready in a few years, but not yet. He didn't even bother mentioning Kaiser's son Theo, who was both too young and too uncommitted to the cause to even be considered.

But most of all, he regretted not being able to injure this bitch right in front of him, with her arrogant smirk and obnoxious golden armor. He'd been recuperating from that huge exertion while she had been waiting for his answer. Foolish, giving him time to recuperate. Despite her power, she was still inexperienced. It made his defeat at her hands all the more galling. Still, he'd rather die standing on his own legs, in the form he felt most at home: A giant metal wolf of whirring weapons. He transformed, bigger than he'd ever been, one with his power in a way that left him exhilarated. He could make more weapons faster, control them with more finesse, move them at higher velocities. He was reliving his trigger event, facing off against a vastly superior opponent without a chance of winning. He'd won then. Could he win again, defy the fates one last time?

She smirked, apparently finding his stubbornness amusing."Going for one last stand? I thought you were smarter than that. I suppose I have no choice but to finish you." She brought her arm down in one swift, authoritative motion, a veritable wall of inhumanly perfect weapons flying forward even as he charged her in one last, desperate gambit.

Swords struck his body, making him stumble, but still he advanced. The wounds piled up, the weapons blocking up the whirring of his body, interfering with his movement. But still he advanced. He lost one leg, then his head, but that was fine because his brain was where his heart should be, and it didn't contain anything but his eyes, which he hardly needed at this point. She wouldn't move. She hadn't stepped from her position the entire fight, and she wouldn't start now. Her pride wouldn't allow it. So he kept moving forward, step by excruciating step, until he stood before her, towering over her puny human sized body.

Was this what he'd been so afraid of? This little girl? He smiled without a mouth as his brain shut down, his core having already been pierced several times. The giant metal wolf stood, beaten and battered but still standing, the person who controlled it absent. This was his final message to the world, a declaration of his struggle against an insurmountable enemy.

Taylor inspected the statue, before smirking slightly and pressing one gauntleted hand against it. She traced the swords curiously and with a slight push tipped it over, observing what was left of the once proud warrior collapse into itself, just a messy collection of blades. She watched it for a second, contemplating the corpse of the man she'd killed before turning away, and walking towards the stairs. She didn't look back.

/

Taylor woke up to the sun piercing through her window. She yawned, stretching like a cat as she did so. She felt slightly drained, what happened last night? Her eyes widened as it came back to her, and she almost fell off her bed in shock. Who was that last night? Had her powers somehow changed the way she thought? She'd killed a man last night. She'd walked around in golden armor without a mask, exposing her identity to the world. People had taken _videos_. And she'd assaulted a member of Empire 88, the one gang in the city with more capes than the local protectorate. She stumbled out of bed and ran to the bathroom.

She'd thought she couldn't be anymore shocked, but what she saw in the mirror blew past her numbness. She looked..._different_. The most notable difference was her coloring. Yesterday she'd been pale, almost unnaturally so, and she'd had dark brown hair and eyes. The person staring back at her had golden brown skin, blood red eyes and hair bleached blond by the sun. But it was more than that. Ignoring the coloring, her mouth was less wide, her cheekbones higher. The slope of her nose was different. She looked like her mother.

She wasn't what anyone would consider a model, but she liked how she looked now. This was herself as she'd always wished to be. This was her own idealised version of herself. All the little imperfections she'd obsessed over, those were all gone. She was recognizable, but undeniably different. She had a figure now, for one. Not an impressive one, her bust was still small, but she didn't look quite so wafer thin. There was definition in her arms and legs. Was this all a consequence of her power? Making her an ideal version of herself?

Staring into a strangers eyes, it all came crashing down on her. The locker. The Beings. Hookwolf. The changes in her own body. Would her mother even recognize her? She curled up in a ball and cried for the first time since her mother's death.


	2. Ownership

None of her clothes fit. It seemed like a rather trivial problem for someone of her powers, but all the clothes in her vault were either ridiculously gaudy or revealing. She thought of sorting through her mother's stuff, still collecting dust in a rabble of boxes in the garage, but the thought made her heart twinge uncomfortably and she'd already cried enough for one morning. She settled for some sort of white toga-sundress hybrid she'd found in her vault, but looking in the mirror she still felt like something was missing.

Aside her unique coloring, she still looked too...normal. Too _Taylor_-like. It was impossible to hide the changes that had overcome her, both physically and mentally, so she'd decided that the best way to ease along the transition was to embrace it. Her new powers apparently came with a taste for gold, because she felt a whole lot better with the simple addition of a gold armband, along with a gold and emerald Wesekh Collar, the necklaces of ancient Egyptian Pharaohs that from what she could tell conferred upon her some type of protection. As she put on a pair of golden earrings — because one can never have too much of good thing — she contemplated the fact that she hadn't known what a Wesekh Collar was before she'd put it on. Her power seemed to give her advanced knowledge of anything she'd pulled out of her vault, but things she'd never used were left vague, only coming out in response to a question or need. Fascinating.

Taylor sneaked out her window in classic teenage fashion — or, well, not really. Most teenagers didn't simply jump from a second story window and land on the ground without a stumble. She knew she couldn't avoid her dad forever, the only reason he hadn't found her already was because he'd stayed up so late waiting for her last night that he was still comatose a 9:00 AM the next day. But she was willing to give it a shot.

She wandered down the street, not really paying attention to where she was going. She sure as hell wasn't going to school today, it and everything associated with it was a waste of her time. She briefly entertained the thought of turning herself in and joining the Wards, she'd probably even be put into Arcadia High, a completely different world as far as the public school system was concerned. They received a lot of funding and acclaim for their well-known housing of the junior heroes. But the idea of being part of any organization without herself at the head, of being forced to endure superiors and paperwork and miles of bureaucratic red tape on the very lethal use of her powers left a bad taste in her mouth. She almost snorted at the thought. _Superiors. _Where did they come off with that kind of arrogance? (The irony of her statement wasn't lost on her, she simply dismissed it because at least in her case it was _true_.)

She found herself in the docks again, some part of herself drawn to it. Maybe it was the sea, maybe it was the human misery. She was still learning so much about who she was now, as a person. As a cape. Could she be a sadist? No. She didn't feel guilty about what she'd done to Hookwolf, but she hadn't enjoyed it. Fighting him? Definitely. Killing him? No. If anything she was slightly disappointed. He would have made a loyal servant.

She recognized, objectively, that she should feel guilty. A man was dead because of her. There was no second party to shift the blame to, no worthy ideal for which his sacrifice had been necessary. She'd been excited to have powers, intoxicated with them, and she'd want to prove a point, to herself, to her bullies, to the world. She wanted to prove she could be strong. The strongest. And she had. Hookwolf had gotten in her way, and she'd handled him like he was some second-rate cape off the streets. That thought made her smile. The way she'd dominated him, stretched out her powers and annihilated him sent a thrill down her spine. Maybe she was a sadist after all.

She was distracted by a homeless man pulling out a knife and stabbing her. She almost stood there and took it, but she wasn't wearing her armor and was unsure exactly what type of protection her necklace conferred. It could be anything from immunity to poisons to protection from long-range weapons, she had no idea. At any rate, he was moving so slow she couldn't really justify to herself that it was too much of a hassle to move out of the way and just depend on her treasure's protection. Reaching out with one hand, Taylor grabbed the knife between her thumb and forefingers, snapped it, catching the handle out of the air as it dropped from his shocked hands and stabbing him in the leg with what was left of the blade. A loud grunt followed by a whimper later and he was on the ground, crawling away from her back to whatever cesspool he called home. Maybe he'd get an infection, she had no idea how clean he kept his mugging knives. Revenge for the attempted-murder didn't even enter her mind. Would you go out of your way to squash a bug that couldn't even bite? Such a blatant crime in the middle of the street seemed to have shaken up even the normal residents of this part of town. These things usually happened under the cover of darkness. She supposed her jewels had made too fine a prize.

She flung away the knife-blade with a disgusted sound. The existence of such crime and squalor in her city annoyed her.

…

Wait a second. Latching on to that thought, she examined it for whatever had caught her attention. Ah. This was _her _city. She felt some form of possession over it. Her alien psychology was still very new to her, but one thing she'd quickly grasped was that she mainly categorized the world in one of two ways: things that were her's, and things that were not her's. She treated things vastly different depending on which side they fell of that very sharp coin. She admired her possessions, they were her treasures, special by virtue of belonging to her. They were _her's_ and therefore they were _part of her_. On the flip side, anything she didn't own lost almost all value to her besides it's potential worth upon acquisition. Objects and people became dispensable and unimportant, and she had trouble feeling pity or sympathy for anything she didn't own.

She owned this city.

She looked around the dock, seeing the world with new eyes. The people here were destitute, they walked with their shoulders hunched forward, crushed under the weight of the world's indifference. The homes were almost dilapidated, several of them abandoned and others looking like they should be. Even the careless cracks in the sidewalk infuriated her almost beyond words. Crime was rampant, parahuman and human alike, and the government either unable or unwilling to do anything about it. Kids became part of gangs out of necessity, threatened or peer-pressured into it. Drugs and money and powers were the lifeblood of this world, keeping it alive and well as it indiscrimintly suckled off the city like a parasite. How did this reflect on her?

Unacceptable. Completely unacceptable. She would carve this city in her image, and anything that couldn't adapt could leave or die. This was her city. The world just didn't know it yet


	3. Paternity

Even she couldn't evade the inevitable. So she didn't try. No more wincing at creaking floorboards. Taylor would walk into her home through the front door, with the confidence of someone who'd done nothing wrong, ready to confront her father with the fact that she was a parahuman now, and there wasn't anything either of them could do about it. Nor would she want to.

But behind her projection of self-assuredness, the butterflies in her chest became pterodactyls. Her words screeched to a stop in her throat, as her mind replayed a conversation that hadn't happened yet for the fifth time this minute. This wasn't like facing hookwolf. This was her father.

And she realized, with a shock, why the prospect of confronting her father was so much more daunting.

Because unlike Hookwolf, her father could actually hurt her. He was the only thing her power couldn't protect her from.

When she'd awakened to her powers, she felt like she'd been swept off her feet, and the ground under her had shot up like a skyscraper, until she sat on the heavens with only clouds for company. And looking down at the rest of the world so far below her, all the little people scrambling around under her were like ants, unidentifiable and as easily crushed. They lived by her grace, because she was too lazy to take out some windex and send them back into the wild where they thoughts were irrelevant, their actions of little consequence.

Not her father though. Not Dad. He might be the only person she actually loved, in the entirety of this blue speck. No matter his flaws, his distance, his powerlessness, he retained a special place inside her heart. That's what made it so easy for him to break it.

What if he rejected her? What if he didn't recognize her? What if he couldn't accept that she'd changed, that she was as different from the timid girl he knew as a garden snake was from Leviathan?

She overthought herself into such a frenzy, that she barely noticed that his white volvo was absent from the driveway. She opened the door, marching into the kitchen where he normally sat after work, leafing through a book or newspaper with a bottle of Coors light. Just one.

The speed with which her nervousness dissipated the second she realized he wasn't home almost gave her vertigo. She noticed a large post-it on the fridge:

_Dear Taylor,_

_I don't know what time you came home last night, but I know you came back. You forgot to do your bed. We're going to have a very, __very __long talk about this! There's an emergency at work, so I'll be back late. You can't avoid me forever!_

_I love you._

—_Dad_

So he'd be back late. That was fine. It'd give her time to compose herself. She wasn't a little girl anymore, dammit! She was the most powerful parahuman in existence! THE FUTURE RULER OF BROCKTON BAY! She didn't _do _nervousness! He would accept the changes, or—Or else!

Taylor returned to the living room, feeling somehow _out of place _in all this… normality. Like someone had worn a tux to a soup kitchen. But this was fine. As good a place as any, until she created an environment more worthy of her. She crossed her feet upon the coffee table and turned on the TV, glad that it's vapid tone could quiet her raging thoughts and plans. She'd always worked better with sound in the background. The meaningless chatter helped her focus, somehow.

Her eyes closed to the world around her, as her inner eye opened to the vault that was her power. She found herself bodiless within a golden expanse, seeing everything in all directions, similar to when she'd triggered and seen the origin of powers. The Twin-Gods, ever twining 'till they fell to earth.

"_Disaster strikes for the Dockworkers Association of Brockton Bay when…_"

Within this place, there was only endless possibility. It was free from the dirt and grit of the human world. Within this place—inasmuch as a manifestation of her parahuman abilities could be called a place—there was only greatness. There was bravery and valiance as has only been seen once a century. There were depths of evils from which no man has ever returned, betrayals and lies and fears that could've only been produced by humanity. This place, which held all the treasures that constituted her power, was neither a good nor bad place. Just great. Mediocrity couldn't exist here, there was only shades of greatness.

"_...this isn't unusual, as police reports indicate that gang activity in this area has steeply increased since the group known as the Merchants…_"

But though her powers were potent, she was completely ignorant in their use. So far she'd gotten by flinging swords at people, but what if she came across an opponent that necessitated something more… hands-on?

"_... a statement from from Chief of the BBPD, 'Normally, the city's rival gangs such as the ABB or the E88 would keep them in line, but conflict between the two groups has left the Merchants growing bolder and more reckless'..._"

Immediately, myriad weapons jumped to the forefront of her mind's eye, each one what an individual prone to understatement might define as hands-on.

"_...and head of hiring and Union spokesperson, Danny Herbert…_"

Her eyes opened. Her thumb pressed the plus button.

"_...kidnapped._"

The remote snapped to pieces.

/

Chop. Chop. Chop. His motions were smooth and practiced.

"So, whacha' think of this warehouse? Pretty legit, right? Yeah, it's registered and everything. Says we store fake grass. What's that shit called again? Astro...astro... Some stupid space shit. Anyway, yeah, nothin' fake about the grass we got here."

Skidmark put the knife away and grabbed a twenty-dollar bill. He rolled it up meticulously, and leaned over the table. Snort.

"Aaaaaahh." His head jerked up and he gave what sounded like a semi-ecstatic moan. "That's some good stuff. I can't even feel some of the weak-ass shit we're selling these days."

He turned around, smiling too hard like someone had pulled his lips apart with fishhooks. His teeth were twin rows of pistachio nuts. He had just a little white, on the edge of his left nostril. He snorted again, like he felt it there.

"You want some, dipshits? Always free for first time customers." His sleazy eyebrows raised in proposition through his mask, and his tone said he believed it was a generous offer.

"Mmmm mm mmm," Danny replied.

"Bitch, take that shit out of his mouth." Squealer approached, and gently pried the gag from his mouth. He didn't want to know where it'd been used before.

"I said go to hell, you lunatic."

Skidmark's frenzied million-watt smile faltered for a second, before coming back even sharper, balanced a little more precariously. "You got pretty big balls, for such a quivering pussy." He literally guffawed! He laughed hard, like a joker victim on laughing gas, till his hands rested on his knees for support. Squealer laughed, too.

It slowly dawned on Danny and his assistant tied up in the room that they'd been kidnapped by actual, homegrown lunatics.

Skidmark continued until he was completely out of breath, though Squealer had long since stopped. Then he took out the pistol stuffed down his pants and shot the man to Danny's left in the face. The chair rocked back and there was a second sickening crack.

Danny's head startled in the corpse's direction, a cold sensation overcoming his entire body. There was something warm and wet on his cheek, but he couldn't wipe it off because his hands were bound. It wasn't tears. His hands were shaking in their restraints.

"Finally. I fucking hated that shithead." He affected a ridiculous, high pitched whine. "'Oh, I've got a wife and daughters, please don't hurt me!' What a whiny asshole."

Danny turned to stare at him, breathing as quietly as possible so as not to startle the man into shooting again. Skidmark smiled at the change in Danny's demeanor. He strolled up and put his arm around Danny's shoulder. Then he leaned in, whispering with his warm, smelly breath, "He didn't have to die you know. If you payed for protection, maybe things woulda' been different." Nevermind that Danny couldn't have paid protection money for the Dockworker's Association if he'd wanted to. That he was just a spokesperson.

Skidmark ruffled around in Danny's pockets, sending a shock of worry through him until he took out his wallet. He stood up again and turned away, throwing the various credit cards—Most of them useless and at their limit anyway—on the floor. Until he found something that caught his interest. He turned around, holding up the picture of Taylor and Annette, taken right before the crash.

"This is your family, huh?" Skidmark twisted the word until it sent worried chills down the pit of his stomach. "Maybe I'll kill them, too. Or maybe I'll keep 'em around. Wouldya' like that?" He leered at Danny. "They would, eventually. They always do."

Despite himself, Danny felt his mouth form words. "She's dead."

"Huh?"

"My wife. She's dead."

"Well shit. I bet you would've paid to protect her, huh?" Then he ripped the picture in half. The two halves of Annette's face float to the floor.

_Two giants made of kaleidoscope swim through the space between worlds—_

The jewel in his wife's wedding ring, kept on a chain around his neck, glows softly. And the warehouse becomes obscured by darkness.

/

"Are we really still doing this?" Regent asked petulantly.

"Yes," Tattletale responded for the third time. Regent became easily bored on stakeouts—of which this was the fourth this week— and his brilliant solution to this was to annoy the rest of his team until they were barely resisting the urge to strangle him. She took a deep breath, determined to keep a cool head. "The Boss wants to increase our reputation. We're never going to do that if we never confront other capes. He believes we can take these guys." _And if we can't he'll just pick the world where he doesn't send us._ She added, "The fact he has hostages won't do him any good. The money's still there. Skidmark and Squealer are still there, and mostly alone. They'll be distracted, and when the hostages tell the police that we beat the leaders of the Merchants, the news will just spread even faster than it normally would."

Grue got things back on track. "Tattletale's right, as usual. We're doing this. Game plan as usual. We'll hit 'em fast and hard. I'll obscure our entry. Bitch, you're securing Squealer and making sure she never gets the chance to use any tech. Try not to kill her." Bitch grunted neutrally. "I'll handle Skidmark. Tattletale will find the money, and Regent," Regent raised an eyebrow sardonically, "Just, do whatever it is you do." Regent nodded, grinning.

They snuck through the service entrance under the cover of darkness, following Grue's lead, until—_Two giants made of kaleidoscope swim through the space between worlds._

They all woke up on the floor, a few minutes later. Tattletale was babbling, seemingly unable to control her speech. Bitch's dogs were whimpering, nosing their alpha's recovering form. They were still under Grue's darkness, so they hadn't revealed themselves. Yet.

Gure stood up and grabbed Tattletale's shoulders, shaking them. No response. Ok then. He slapped her, hard enough to make a sound but not enough to leave a mark. She stopped. She muttered, "One of the hostages triggered."

This job just got that much more dangerous. Tattletale was still a little out of it, and a parahuman of unknown power lay inside that warehouse. But not everything was lost. The parahuman would most likely be on their side, if they positioned themselves clearly against his captor. Grue made an executive decision: the heist must go on.

He flooded the warehouse with dark mist and lead his team in. He ran for Skidmark's thin frame, retracting his mist to only cover the two of them. He heard two lion sized dogs let out a bark that was really more of roar, and the sound of Squealer—well, squealing.

Looking back at his opponent, he watched him fumble around in the dark, firing two shots in the wrong direction. Grue approached him from his left side. Never underestimate the weight of experience: he'd long since learned that when deprived of their senses, people seemed to automatically assume he'd try to get them from behind.

Not inaccurately, at first. But he wasn't the novice he once was.

Then, predictably, Skidmark twisted around too quickly on unstable feet, before, unpredictably, stumbling a few lucky steps further and sticking out his hand, activating his power. Grue was sent flying, and his head cracked painfully against the concrete floor. He opened his eyes only to see two wavering copies of the light above. He could hear Skidmark still stumbling around in his darkness, swearing up a storm, completely unaware he'd just nailed his opponent.

On the other side of the warehouse, Squealer could be found almost pissing herself, a giant beast of spikes and bone and exposed, twitching muscle the size of a van breathing warm, putrid dog breath in her face. It held her comfortably under a single claw, before sending begging eyes at its master with an earnestness that would have been cute on something not so terrifying in every way. The girl with the dollar store dog mask shook her head sternly. Angelica bent her ugly, demonic head down in disappointment.

Regent glanced at Grue's downed form, "You need any help there, buddy?"

"I can handle him." The de facto leader muttered.

"Obviously." Regent injected the word with just enough skepticism to be infuriating. Grue ignored him, ready to dive back into the mist and redeem himself.

"Wait!" Grue paused, turning his skull mask around to stare at the surviving hostage, the one who'd just triggered. He was tall, even tied to a chair, and middle aged, a spot of blood that wasn't his splattered across his left cheek, staring with panicked and determined eyes.

A stray thought crossed Grue's mind. He was aware teenagers were more likely to trigger, most likely because that was the most stressful, hormone filled part of most people's lives. But perhaps middle aged men, going through midlife crises', were also prime trigger candidates? He dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred, thinking himself unqualified to even begin to answering that question.

(Unknown to him, a parahuman studies major writing his master's dissertation would soon be handing in a paper on that very subject.)

The hostage, seeming slightly nervous now that he'd gotten his saviours' attentions, continued, "Untie me. I can help you."

"Woah, man. I understand you feel like you need to get some revenge, but now isn't the time to be experimenting with powers." Tattletale, ever the voice of reason.

The man continued staring at Grue with those desperate, begging eyes. Dammit. This was a bad idea. He didn't like when things didn't go according to plan. His eyes, against their will, drifted to the man's dead companion on the floor next to him, then to the blood stain on his cheek. Dammit.

"Tattletale, untie him. He gets one shot."

Tattletale sent him a chastising look, but looked back at the broken man tied up before them. Her eyes narrowed, seeing something no one else could. Finally, she sighed. "It doesn't seem like it'll be that dangerous. Let's be quick. An idiot like Skidmark couldn't fight himself out of a wet paper bag, but even he'll get out of the mist eventually once he figures out to just keep walking in the opposite direction of the wall."

She pulled out a knife, cutting the ropes tying the man to his chair. He stood up, stumbling a bit as blood flow returned to his legs. He rubbed the red rope marks on his wrists gingerly.

"Do you know what you can do?" Tattletale asked.

The man shook his head. "Not exactly. But I think I've got a pretty good idea." He pulled a necklace made of thin, golden chain from under his workman's shirt. At it's end, a wedding rid hung, a modest, simple golden band, its modesty a reflection of the man who held it. Still, the diamond was of decent size, a call to a bygone era when the shipping business wasn't a cold pit in the city's economy. He unhooked the necklace, took the ring off and held it up to the light, staring deeply into it, seeing in it something no else could.

The Undersiders remained silent, despite wanting to urge him to hurry things up. He seemed to sense their urgency, and also seemed intent on ignoring it. His eyes narrowed. The diamond on his wife's ring shined a bright, beautiful blue.

"He's in that dark mist, right?"

Grue nodded.

Then the man brought one leg up, the other hand back, in a classic baseball pitcher's stance, and threw his shining wedding ring into the impenetrable black fog. He had a good arm.

The Undersiders gaped at him in minor bafflement, before he mentioned offhand, "Now would probably be a good time to duck!" Their eyes widened and they followed his example, ducking to the ground as light exploded through the fog, a shockwave rocking them back. The fog gone, they heard a tortured scream, and then just a deep, shocked silence.

Regent finally voiced what was going through all their minds, "Well, shit."

Danny rubbed his hand behind his head somewhat sheepishly, "I- I didn't think it'd be quite that strong."

They all got back to their feet, reorienting themselves. Squealer cried in the background. They turned examine what had become of Skidmark.

He lay against the wall, spiderweb cracks framing his impact point. The man himself was a mess of burns, and would probably be screaming if not for the fact he was so clearly unconscious. Probably head trauma, from the impact.

Danny glanced around at his rescuers, and though he wasn't what one would call familiar with the cape scene, he also wasn't an idiot, and from his rescuers costumes and powers, quickly came to the conclusion that, "You guys aren't heroes, are you?"

No one said anything. Squealer continued crying in the background. Grue shifted awkwardly. This time it was Tattletale that broke it, her tone wry. "What tipped you off? Was it the sinister black mist, the skull mask, or the trio of van-sized monsters holding down Squealer?"

"A little of everything, honestly."

This seemed to amuse her even more, "Yeah, we're not exactly great for PR, are we?" Danny let that observation hang in the air, uncommented.

"So, what are you gonna do about it?" She asked, her tone unthreatening. Her team seemed content to let her do the talking.

Danny shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. I'm not in the habit of carrying jewelry, unfortunately, and for someone whose power seems to be making jewelry explode, that leaves me pretty defenceless against such an intimidating group of villains." He smiled, one of those conspiratorial, _mom-doesn't-know-what-we're-up-to_ smiles only Dad's could do. It was fragile, but it was there. "At least, that's what I'll be telling the PRT, when they question me about it."

The silence became a little more comfortable, a little less dangerous. Grue said, "Ok, now that that's settled, Tattletale, we need to find where the Merchants store their drug mon—

CRASH! A sickening boom interrupted him. Dust sprayed from the wall. CRASH! This one was much louder, the whole building shaking, as finally the entire westernmost wall exploded, its collapse sending dust and debris everywhere. And out of the cloud—

Step. Step. Step.

The building settled down, fortunately still standing despite the beating. The dust slowly cleared.

Again, there was it was, that, Step. Step. Step.

Hard, angry, powerful footfalls. They felt like gongs, like war drums in Tattletale's ears. Footfalls from someone who'd just demolished the wall of a huge warehouse in under five seconds. She was getting extremely bad vibes.

These were not the footfalls of a person she wanted to mess with.

Step.

Step.

And finally… Step. The dust cleared. A golden woman crystallized from the mist. She was tall, for a woman, almost five foot eleven. But it wasn't her height that was intimidating. It was her eyes. Dark, blood-red pits of angry fire, they moved contemptuously over the assembled parahumans, dismissing them all before falling on one in particular. Danny.

Tattletale could barely move, she felt pressure on her lungs, on her mind. Her heartbeat drummed too-loud in her ear. She was a deer in headlights, a startled mouse paralyzed with fear. Her eyes moved, seeing the rest of her team in much the same state. Even Rachel, Bitch, rude and rebellious and unbowing, was immobile, her entire attention on this new interloper.

The entire atmosphere had become thick and sharp, a suffocating tension to give lesser men heart attacks.

_This is her power_, she realized. But no. That wasn't the whole story. _This is part of her power. _She needed more.

_This is the least dangerous part of her power._

She gathered together her courage, her focus, and tried to get past the fear induced haze this girl was imposing on her. If she could get a good look at her, she'd understand better what the hell was happening. Tattletale took a deep breath, and let her power do the rest.

_Golden armor. Protects against physical attacks. Protects against energy based attacks. New. Created from her power, not made. Her power makes items. Her items have powers. _

She created items with effects, then. Obviously powerful, too, if the armor was any indicator. Some kind of trump? How many could she make at one time? Tattletale narrowed her eyes.

_Ten. A hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand. One milli—_

"...T- Taylor? Is— is that you?"

Danny knew this girl? Before her mind could follow another rabbit hole, the girl responded, her blazing eyes seeming to turn, somehow… softer?

"Yes. It is I."

If anything, this seemed to shock Danny more than anything else thus far. "But… but, what happened? You look different—your hair, and your eyes, and you look, like, Annette, almost, except—And what are you wearing? Is that gold—"

"This isn't the time for that. We can talk later. Father—Dad, I've come here," and here she paused, her eyes shifting to take in the burnt man laying against the wall and the women being pinned under some huge canine monstrosity's paw, "to rescue you."

Regent, poor stupid Regent, felt that this might be a good time to interrupt. Snarkily. "Well, a little late for that, aren't you?"

The woman's red eyes glanced at Regent indifferently, "Mongrel, did I give you permission to speak?"

"Regent, shut the hell up before I—" Grue started.

Always ready to misread the atmosphere, Bitch thought to surprise this new, dangerous threat to her team, "Brutus, attack!"

The great beast leapt forward eagerly, covering the distance between him and the strange golden being in under a second as — A sword slammed straight into his great mug, throwing him backwards and into Judas.

"Control your Beasts, insolent dog." The woman reprimanded, dozens of golden pools of light spreading out behind her as weapons peaked out, gleaming sharply like a shark back from the dentist. "Or I will put them down."

Bitch snarled, her teeth showing. She looked ready to go another round. She'd gone straight from fear to anger, ready to respond to this new perceived threat.

But this wasn't the type of opponent she could handle. Tattletale could tell that already, as new information flooded her mind at the sight of the weapons. She felt like she was being pulled in all directions, each one had a history, a train of thought leading to its uses and powers and it was all too much. She closed her eyes, trying to get ahold of her power. She'd need it now more than ever, if they wanted to get out of this mess intact—

"Wait, stop! Everyone stop!" The parahumans present turned their heads in Danny's direction. "Taylor, these people rescued me. It's because of them I didn't end up like… like poor Arthur, over there. Please, everyone, just… just stop fighting. I don't want anymore violence tonight."

Silence.

"I suppose I should be grateful." The woman—Taylor—finally said. "You've done me a great service by protecting my father. Let it never be said that I lack generosity to those that serve me well. For that, I will spare your pathetic lives, which I otherwise would have ended for your insolence. In addition, you may each ask of me a single favor, and in my infinite benevolence, I will see that it is granted."

"...Anything within your power?" Regent clarified.

Taylor raised one eyebrow and informed him, "The latter part of your statement was redundant."

_Yep. That confirms it. This chick is totally, batshit insane._ He watched as the weapons she'd had aimed at them retracted into their portals. _And probably totally, bullshit powerful, too._

"Dad, it's time for us to be on our way. The PRT will be here soon, and we have… much to discuss."

"But, Taylor, shouldn't we speak with them. Tell them what's happened?"

"Later. For now, we have much to discuss." As she said this she strolled forward, towards him. The Undersiders took a few steps back, giving her space.

"Wait, Taylor, what are—"

Taylor grabbed him and picked him up in her arms, carrying him like he weighed nothing. He was too tired to feel indignant over being held like a bride on her wedding day. "This will speed things up."

The girl in golden armor looked back, running her red eyes over the Undersides one, final time. To give warning. "This city belongs to me. Soon, I will claim it for the world to see, and when I do, you will have a choice. You will either choose to join me, and prosper, or you will be exiled, and never step foot in this city again. Choose wisely, for you may only choose once. And that choice will either be the single greatest or single worst decision you will ever make."

Then she whipped her head back, and jumped hard enough to crack the concrete underfoot. She was flash of gold and then gone, her father's yelp echoing after her.

They stared at the absence of wall she'd left behind. They heard distant police sirens.

"We're still getting the money, right?" Regent's comment startled them back into action, and they packed up the Merchant's drug money before leaving under cover of darkness. The PRT arrived to a demolished building and the two leaders of the merchant, both unconscious and one barely breathing.

/

_Later that night_

"So there's a new parahuman in the city?" A synthesized voice asked.

"Yes." Tattletale responded.

"Do you believe they would be amenable to joining the Undersiders?"

"No, Boss. She… she's crazy strong. Emphasis on the crazy. She's going to try to take over the city, and… and I almost believe she can do it. The way she talks about it, like it's already a foregone conclusion, like we're all just waiting for the inevitable. She's… charismatic. In a crazy, terrifying kind of way. Boss, I think we may have a new player in town. And they're playing for keeps."

A prolonged silence.

"Boss…?"

"Goodbye, Tattletale. We'll speak more about this later, when you're less… frazzled."

The phone rang. He'd hung up.

In an underground base miles away, Coil rested his chin on his entangled hands, his brow furrowed in consternation. This could be problematic.

/

They arrived home in silence. Taylor opened the door for him, and sat him down on the couch. She reached into the fridge, got a beer, and handed it to him. He stared deeply at it for a second, before opening the can with that relaxing 'psshh' sound of compressed air coming free. Taylor changed from her armor back into her more comfortable toga-dress hybrid, determining she would buy some more clothes that fit soon. Then she sat down in an armchair next to him.

He spoke up. "I feel like everything is changing too fast. You, then me. This whole kidnapping situation. It's all… difficult to process."

He looked up and met his daughter's eyes. Her coloring was different, but he could still see Taylor in there, and indeed, more of Annette. Not just in her face, but in her body language. She oozed confidence, a certainty of self that was humbling to behold. But her powers, the way she'd spoken, in the warehouse…

"You have powers." It wasn't a question.

Her lips upturned in what might have been a smirk. "Yes. I was being bullied at school. I never told you. Eventually they pushed things too far, and here we are now." She didn't seem particularly sad with this state of affairs. "So did you."

"Yeah." He didn't have to explain. He took a sip of beer. He couldn't hold in the question any longer.

"Taylor, what's happened to you? I'm no expert, but I don't think most capes change so much, physically… and, mentally. You're so different, so much…" He couldn't find the words.

"What? So much better? So much prettier? So much more confident?"

"Crueler. Harsher."

If anything, her smirk widened slightly. "Cruel? Harsh? Those are words used by weaklings when confronted with a power they can't beat. If I was stronger, strong like I am now, Emma and Sophia and Madison's attempts to crush me wouldn't have been cruel. They'd have been pathetic."

Danny shook his head. "You're wrong. You weren't weak Taylor, you were a sweet girl." Both were painfully aware of the past tense theirin. He tried to save it, "You still are. It's wrong, to be cruel, to be harsh to someone weaker. You need to uplift them, give them a voice, so that they can grow to be strong."

Taylor shook her head. "Coddling humans will only ever leave them weak. The only way to become stronger is to overcome adversity. This is natural selection, this is the principle that has made us the strongest species on the planet. By adapting, by overcoming the selective pressures, the harshness of predators, of the environment, of our fellow man, we rose to become what we are. I've risen to become what I am."

She didn't mention the Twin Gods she'd seen in her vision, who seemed to operate under much the same principle. She even wondered, though she did not voice her concern, _is this me, speaking now_? _Or is this the shard of them inside me_? Nevertheless, she continued, "True strength, true genius, only emerges through conflict. The greatest favor I can do someone is not to be their voice, and let them remain a sheep, easily swayed, but to be as the North Wind, harsh and unforgiving, eroding the weakness from their bones and sculpting them into what they can truly become. To become the pressure that will turn charcoal to diamond. That is how I became strong, and how you became strong, too. Parahumans are the ultimate proof of this principle. We are a product of this harsh world."

Danny stared at her, shocked at the conviction in her voice, at the difference between the girl he knew and harsh woman she'd become in literally the blink of an eye. But he knew this hadn't come completely out of nowhere. It wasn't just her powers.

There'd always been a gleam of this, of this harshness, of this determination, hidden within the little girl he knew and loved. However sweet she was, there was strength like granite under the surface. He'd seen glimpses of it, sometimes. In the way she responded to Annette's death, sad, terrified like any child, but never in front of him. Always with a brave face. With a smile. With an 'Everything's Ok Dad.' And two weeks later, she started making breakfast, like her mom did. He still remembered his little girl, standing on a chair, cooking on the stove with her little arms

No, this wasn't out of the blue. Not completely. It was the shadow of Annette. Strong, some might even say harsh, Annette.

Even then, it was a hard thing to swallow. "...Taylor, were you serious, back there in the warehouse? Are you really trying to take over the city?"

She opened her mouth, and laughed. A laugh of genuine amusement, "Try? No, Dad, I don't intend to try. I intend to succeed. I will carve this city in my image."

"And what?" He asked. "Become a tyrant? Oppress people?"

"Tyrant?" She repeated dismissively. "Another word used by the weak when confronted by a greater power. Did you know that many countries consider America tyrannical? It's all subjective. Here, we know that though we are using force, we are giving them the gift of democracy. We are giving them a tool, a government that will give them more freedom, make them happier as a people. But all others see is us invading and forcing upon them a regime they are not ready for."

"What makes you think people would be more prosperous under your rule than under democracy? You just said that democracy made people happier and more free."

Taylor smirked again. "It's all subjective. Democracy worked until now, but we are entering a new age. Of parahumans, of monsters and gods hidden in human flesh. The old systems no longer function. They are becoming obsolete. I will be the first to usher in a new age of power and prosperity for humanity. Starting right here, in the city of my birth, Brockton Bay."

Was it hilarious, that this was the longest conversation he'd had with his daughter since Annette's death? That he was this out of touch? It was becoming difficult to disagree with her. He was unsure how much of it was arguing with his daughter, his own flesh and blood, and how much of it was the power she'd shown in the warehouse, to affect people with just her words and her presence. "And if I don't agree? If I think that the old systems are worth saving?"

Now, her red eyes narrowed slightly. "Dad, I love you. But you cannot stop me. Nothing can, really. You're either with me, or against me. If you're with me, you might be a voice for the people, you may represent those lofty ideals you pretend to believe in in the new world. Or, you can be against me. It will make no difference. I simply won't have you, as a councillor at my side."

She stood. He put his empty beer can on the coffee table and stood as well. "Taylor, where are you—"

"I'm going upstairs. Think on your options. I know you'll make the right choice." He watched her ascend up the stairs, knowing in that moment he'd never have control of her again. She was an adult. No. She was more. She was a Ruler.

Danny Hebert collapsed back into his chair, exhausted. He needed a nice, hot shower. But more than anything, he needed a cold beer and a time-machine.

A/N: That's got to be the favorite last sentence I've written for any chapter. Pretty universal sentiment.

And for those of you who noticed: Danny's got Rin's jewelcraft? Waaah— O_O. What could he have planned for that?

Also, If you'd please, give you opinion on the Danny Taylor interaction here? It was tough, figuring out how she'd interact with him, seeing as Gilgamesh doesn't really have any paternal figure.


	4. Escalation

The most important thing she needed also happened to be one of the few her vault couldn't supply — at least not directly: reputation. She could proclaim her ownership of the city from the rooftops and slaughter anyone who disagreed, but without reputation, without a story, she'd just be another crazy parahuman the PRT had to put down. They wouldn't succeed, of course, that wasn't in question. But Taylor understood what too few parahumans that came into powerful abilities did, something the PRT understood full well: you could have all the personal power you wanted, but in order to truly get things done on a large scale, you needed power over _people. _That was what reputation would get her. With reputation, she could scare off people halfway across the world without lifting a finger, people she'd otherwise have to spend time crushing under her boot. She could get control of a city instead of a pile of ash. With a big enough reputation, she could even scare the government into backing off, though that, admittedly, would be much more problematic. Regardless, this was the first step, and she needed to get it done, the faster the better. Taylor Herbert doesn't do things by half measures.

She'd acquired some reputation, along with a dangerous enemy, with her killing of Hookwolf. Empire 88 would try to suppress the information, because the killing of a prominent member would weaken their reputation as much as it added to her own. But too many people had seen them, at least 30, and short of killing them all, Taylor didn't see how Empire 88 could realistically stop the information from getting out. Because if High School had taught her anything, it was that people were incurable gossips, and would be compelled to tell someone a secret, even if a superior told them not to. _Especially_ if a superior had told them not to.

But it wasn't enough. Hookwolf just wasn't infamous enough, not on the scale she needed. Ideally, she could just fight off an endbringer single handedly, but that was at least a month away, last she checked. Taylor sighed in disappointment. Why couldn't anything be easy? She briefly wondered if her sudden upshoot in power had caused her to lose perspective before dismissing the thought. Perspective was for those too weak to forge their own path.

The simplest way to both grow her reputation and start Brockton Bay's transformation into a city worth ruling was immediately obvious: just exterminate the parahuman gangs from the city. Yeah, when you have enough power, plans don't need a huge amount of elaboration. She'd never thought of herself as an exterminator, but no one had ever said taking over a city would be simple or easy, so she accepted the menial job of getting rid of the vermin graciously.

If anyone had bothered to ask, this was what Taylor would've told them was the reason she was currently standing ten feet away from a fifteen foot dragon, shooting swords at a pesky Oni-lee teleporting all over the place and exploding like a glitchy Michael Bay movie. Everything had started innocently enough, with her wandering ABB territory in the middle of the night wearing solid gold armor. You know, whatever most fifteen year-old girls do on a lazy wednesday night. She'd noticed a conspicuous lack of criminal activity in supposedly gang-ridden territory until, of course, she didn't.

The first sign that something supernatural was going on was the explosions. A few blocks away, three rapid fire explosions followed by a ringing gunshot. Curiously, her heart palpating in her chest, Taylor jumped onto a rooftop easily, roof jumping to the area of interest.

Taylor had taken up roof jumping after getting gawked at had lost its novelty, and found it a fast and suitably dramatic form of transportation. For that, some light damage to other peoples rooftops was acceptable.

The scene she came upon was chaotic, four, no, five capes fighting in a parking lot in front of a warehouse. She recognized Lung, hulking out at around 9 feet tall fighting a man wearing a black breastplate over a blood red shirt, wielding a katana in one hand and a gun in the other. He moved like a breakdancer, dodging with flashy flips and rolls as he cut Lung apart with strategic precision. Victor. He must have had invulnerability or some short range telekinesis, because he moved through Lung's fire without flinching. The cape seemed to be holding his own, for now. But there was only so long you could fight someone like Lung with just skill, and that time was approximately however long it took him to turn into a 15 foot tall pyrokinetic dragon. After that, even with invulnerability, well, good luck.

Oni Lee, Lung's second in command, seemed to be handling the other three capes, flitting around the battlefield exploding at extremely inconvenient times. She recognized one of the capes as Stormtiger, an Empire 88 cape obviously going for some type of wildman theme with a white tiger mask and no shirt to speak of. He was covered in scars, but Taylor examined him appreciatively none the less. You didn't have to like someone to appreciate their abs. The second was a young woman with a cage covering her face, and she seemed to be faring the best out of all of them. She was always at the right place at the right time, ridiculously fast reflexes and some type of sensor power letting her know where not to be when things went boom. Finally she saw someone who had to be her age in a black and red robe, floating on a trash bin, two _anvils_ rotating around her like planets around the sun.

The last one was hidden in the shadows off to the side, armed but otherwise not participating. If Victor was here, this could only be his power granting partner, Othala.

The fighting was extremely intense, they were all clearly trying to kill each other. Perfect.

She concentrated inwardly, and found herself trapped in a dark, humid place. Don't panic. She reached out to the gilded gate she knew was there and mentally unlocked it. The lock tumbled into place and opened with a sound like a gong, echoing deeply through her, resonating with every part of her as the power of her vault opened up before her, filled with golden light. None of this was actually happening, of course. This was merely a mechanism she had figured out, a type of self-hypnosis that allowed her access to her power. She'd found, through some experimentation, that opening her vault took energy, but once it had been opened keeping it active required only a small but constant amount. Still, enough that it was more efficient to lock it up then to keep it open, constantly draining her.

Feeling the first small stirrings of exhilaration, she summoned two portals and shot a pair of spears into both fights, not aiming at any specific person. Sneak attacks were below her; two man sized craters in the asphalt got everyone's attention handily. She jumped down into the street, a lamppost illuminating her appearance for her audiences benefit. Every fighter there was tense, eyes darting between their allies, their enemies and finally her. Victor spoke first, "You're the cape that took out Hookwolf."

Taylor smiled amusedly, "You're an observant one, aren't you?" She luxuriated in her confidence, a natural side-effect of her power that changed everything having to do with social interactions. She could be herself, and not worry about what anyone might say or think, what they might gossip about later. Fears and anxiety that had been the bane of her existence as a teenager, but especially that friendless, isolated year under Emma and Sophia's boots, were now irrelevant, impotent. And she loved it. She glanced sideways at Lung, who was getting agitated at the interruption. If this went on much longer he'd attack anyone, just to prevent his steady decrease in power without a fight.

Victor glared at her dispassionately, "You do realise the Empire will rip you to sheds? Regardless of your power, we have more capes in our ranks than any one gang in the city, including the Protectorate, with more reinforcements around the country than all Heroes and Villains in Brockton Bay combined. You don't stand a chance." Suddenly his eyes gained a fire, as if she'd personally offended him, "And I will be the one to end your miserable life."

Maybe he should steal some talent at giving out death threats, because Taylor was hardly shaking in her boots.

"Please try. I'll enjoy watching your so-called 'Empire' crumble as I kill off every parahuman in your ranks. Also, give Kaiser a message, boy," She delighted in the way he squirmed at being condescended to by someone clearly many years his junior. "Tell him that he has ten days to vacate the city of all members of the 'Empire 88'. Anyone that remains will be killed. Be thankful we met here so I could give you this warning, I was tempted to just start slaughtering you." She didn't know how serious she was about that threat. She'd certainly do _something_ to them, but even with her newly dubious morals killing such a huge number of people seemed… excessive. Not to mention tedious. But she had to project the image of a ruthless overlord, of someone confident they could take on every gang in the city and win, no sweat.

She wondered to herself how much of that was an act, and how much was just her new self shining through. She wondered if she even cared.

Victor clearly didn't take well to being threatened, and the other Empire 88 members looked ready to jump her. He glanced at them, his eyes shifting to Lung, and finally to the ground. He grit his teeth, clenching his hands into fists. Whatever he was about to do, it was going to cost him. "Cricket, Rune, Stormtiger. Retreat, formation Loki." Their eyes widened, as did Lung's, and Oni Lee was nowhere to be found.

Stormtiger formed a concussive blast of air, so loud her ears were still ringing five minutes later. He and Cricket jumped backwards onto the young hero's anvils, Taylor thought she heard one of them grunt 'Rune', and she flew away with them. Victor, for his part, dropped a flash grenade and escaped using no doubt top notch parkour skills.

Hm. Well, that was a pleasant surprise. She'd expected it to take a bit longer for her enemies to start running from her on sight. "Well, it looks like it's just you and me, neanderthal."

Lung's eyes narrowed, and when he spoke Taylor had to struggle to understand what he was saying through his deformed mouth. "Eee im in extremely dang-guerous enemy te mAaake." _I'm an extremely dangerous enemy to make_.

That was true. He was known, besides being the founder of the ABB and a guy who could singlehandedly take an entire protectorate team, for having gone head to head with Leviathan during his sinking of Japan. Maybe this would be a challenge?

"All I've seen of you so far is a stupid lug standing around like a little bitch as his enemies get one over on him." She wasn't sure if that was actually the case, but it seemed like a pretty safe bet. Regardless, it would piss him off. Fighting someone like Lung would definitely increase her infamy. But not yet. She needed him stronger if this was to have any impact. Then she felt the air stir behind her, and turned around just in time to get a face full of bomb from Oni Lee.

She returned to consciousness buried under a wall on the other side of the street.

...What?

Those weren't normal bombs. They were parahuman made. She could tell, because she hurt all over, especially around the dent in her armor. So a tinker, probably specializing in bombs because any normal tinker tech wouldn't even budge her. When did the ABB get a tinker specializing in _bombs_, of all things? She must be new. Taylor briefly wondered whose stroke of genius it was to get a bomb tinker to team up with Oni Lee. That, there, was some crazy synergy even she could appreciate. She smiled, but the smile had a dangerous edge to it. This was getting _very_ interesting.

She stood up, throwing off the crumbled wall and swiping the stray dust off her shoulders. Meanwhile, Lung became a porcupine of deadly swords and Oni Lee frantically teleported out of the way. He teleported behind her again, this time ready to slit her throat, but she unsheathed a sword from a portal next to her and cut him in half. He didn't try that again.

Lung was already starting to recover, blue fire covering him in a ghostly armor. He was now fifteen feet tall, and growing as she watched. Nothing like getting impaled to give someone a sense they might be in a fight. He charged forward, unnaturally fast for his lumbering size and moving with serpentine grace. Blue fire reflected eerily off his silver scales. She let him get a little closer this time, before he once again found himself riddled with an uncomfortable amount of deadly weapons. And down an arm, and the right side of his face...and probably a kidney, too. That one might take him awhile.

Her vindictiveness born of being knocked through a wall was temporarily sated. That said, they most likely wouldn't survive the night if she had anything to say about it. She took out her mirror, and found Oni Lee.

/

Oni Lee stood in an apartment building across the street from the warehouse, staring down at the Golden woman who'd scared off the Empire 88 and taken out Lung. He was angry. No, he was furious. He'd been handling them. He'd been one explosion away from killing three important capes in the Empire's hierarchy. But because of that girl, that girl who couldn't be more than 16 years old, they'd escaped.

He slammed his fist against the wall. _Shit, get it together_. He had to concentrate on the now. Lung was recovering, and he'd be back up and stronger than ever in no time. That's what made him so useful. But what was really bothering him was the way she just stood there, staring into her mirror as Lung recovered a meter away. Was she just playing with them? Did there exist someone strong or stupid enough to try and fight Lung in a battle of attrition?

Maybe it was an honor thing. Oni Lee had seen it before. Refusal to strike a downed enemy, bound by pointless rules into what they thought was a "fair fight". Oni Lee had killed a lot of fair fighters.

He was shocked when she glanced up, staring directly at him. Did she know he was there? Enhanced sight? His question was answered with a golden sword through the face. The Oni Lee clone crumpled into burnt carbon.

He appeared 20 meters above her, free falling towards her position, an active bomb strapped to his chest. She detected him again, shooting swords skyward. God, she was as bad as Cricket. How was he supposed to explosively ambush people with all these extra-sensory powers cramping his style? That Oni Lee died, another one appearing 5 meters above her, basically on top of her. She looked up, this time, and jumped back almost frantically, if it were not done with the poise of a ballroom dancer. Oni Lee collided with the ground and exploded. He appeared on the roof of the warehouse just in time to be blinded by the tinker made energy. He exhaled in frustration. This bitch was powerful. Ridiculously powerful.

Not only did she have a ranged attack that could take out most brutes, her armor granted her a durability that could stand up to Bakuda's bombs. Bakuda's bombs were strong enough to damage _Endbringers_. As if that wasn't enough, she seemed to have increased strength and agility, and at least one item that granted her extra-sensory perception at a reasonable distance. And there was no telling what other bullshit she'd pull out of her bag of tricks. If he'd been alone, he'd have no chance of winning. But he wasn't. Not by a long shot.

Lung lumbered to his feet, towering a few inches above the buildings surrounding him and growing. And he was _pissed_. He breathed blue fire and swept his head in a half-circle, lighting up the entire street. By setting everything on fire he was simultaneously limiting his enemies movements and increasing his tactical adaptability, making the battlefield his ideal staging ground. He stretched out his wings and breathed fire into the sky, roaring, informing the whole city that he was on a rampage in the hope the protectorate would come and try to help. The more the merrier. For Lung, at least. Oni Lee heard a siren, and guessed they had already initiated evacuation.

Lung turned to the golden cape and charged, an aura of fire surrounding him. She skipped backwards, launching dozens of weapons at a hit, and they were effective. But not effective enough. Lung's regeneration sped up exponentially the stronger he got, so at this points the weapons were still painful, still damaging, but ultimately only a minor inconvenience. Wounds steamed shut as fast as they were made.

The still human sized cape's eyebrows scrunched in frustration, and she searched for something that would _hurt _Lung, and _keep_ him hurt. She searched through her vault, mentally examining and dismissing hundreds of weapons —giving herself a huge headache in the process— before she came on one that would serve. A golden pool of light appeared directly before her, and she grabbed the handle of the sword it presented.

The blade was beautiful, more the idea of what a sword should be than any actual weapon crafted by men. It was a broadsword, almost as long as Taylor was tall, its blade shining imperceptibly in the night with a simple black leather grip. This was Gram, the sword used by the hero Simurg to slay Fafnir. It was the ultimate dragon-slaying sword. It was perfect.

Taylor brought the sword over her head like it weighed nothing, and prepared for what looked like an overhead strike. The sword glowed with light the color of the moon, growing stronger with every passing second. Lung looked upon it, and he must have sensed something was not right, because he charged straight at her faster than he'd moved the whole fight, but it was too late to stop the threat to his life. She swung down growling "Gram!", and with the motion came an ocean of light that atomized everything in that general direction. Lung brought his wings before him as a makeshift shield and his flames exploded into motion, flaring with the brightness of the sun as the flew to counter the attack. The two energies met halfway between them, and the world went white.

Oni Lee came to as his vision blurred into existence, his ears still ringing from that sound like a thunderclap. He'd managed to get out of the way, barely. He looked down at the devastation those attacks had caused. A block of the city was just...gone. There was no rubble, just a half circle of scarred earth, burned black as charcoal and glowing red in some places where the heat had melted dirt and stone. Standing right in front of the half circle was the girl, the golden cape that had been fighting Lung. She looked tired, but otherwise pristine. She seemed to be observing the damage she'd done, slightly surprised if anything.

And Lung was gone. He had to be. No one could survive something like that. That woman, that monster in human flesh, had just managed a feat not even Endbringers could boast. She beaten _Lung_. Not prematurely, before he could power up, but in his full, terrifying glory. Oni Lee hadn't thought that was possible. She turned around, apparently done for the day, when the ground rumbled.

Her head snapped back to the battlefield, and he saw the earth crack as a huge, blackened arm, the silver scales broken, reached out to grab her. She panicked, launching weapons at it, but they had no effect. The arm ignored them, taking the damage and regenerating as more of the body climbed out of the partially melted rock. Lung's draconic face pulled itself from the crumbling earth, larger than Oni Lee had ever seen him. He grabbed the cape in a single monstrous hand and squeezed. Hard. The girl let out a small scream before closing her mouth, looking strained. Lung brought her before his face, until she was right in front of his huge draconic mouth.

Steam raised from the cooling ground as a fire still raged across the city, and in the center of the devastation stood a twenty meter tall Lung, with four arms, two pairs of wings and a very cruel, very deformed simile of a smile on his draconic face.


	5. Monsters

**A/N: I struggled with how to follow this up. Finally, I realized that I just needed to add some threads I'd skipped over. As a result, I've gone back and inserted a new chapter. _Check out the new chapter 3: Paternity_, and thank you for indulging in this going back and putting new stuff nonsense. We'll get back to the future in no time though, now that that's out of my system. Hope you enjoy.**

A/N: I just wanted to clarify a question that some of you seem to have: Why has Lung escalated this far? Gilgamesh would've crushed him.

Because Taylor wasn't trying to crush Lung. She was playing with him, because she wanted to see how strong he could get, and because she was arrogant enough to believe she'd have no problem handling him if things got out of hand.

Well, she kept pushing him instead of killing him, until she found herself grasped in the claws of a giant dragon, half the city burning, and things very clearly _out of hand_.

Now our hero's going to have to deal with the consequences of giving a giant rage-beast enough time to ramp up. Still, nothing she can't handle.

...Right?

/

Armsmaster leaned down to decrease air-resistance as he sped through the city, clocking in at 140 mile per hour. Contrary to what most held to be common sense, he was rushing _towards_ the giant fire breathing monstrosity. The fire that was consuming the north half of Brockton Bay had originated here. He twisted harshly, leaving skid marks in the road as he turned and got a view of the clearing created by parahuman battle.

Lung held an unmasked blonde girl in his grip, none too gently if her wince was any indication. He recognized her as the unconfirmed parahuman that had been the talk of the town the last few days. How was she related to this disaster? No matter. Regardless of any personal suspicions, he needed to help her, and help her fast. He took out his halberd and activated it's newest feature: nanotechnology he'd completed with help from Dragon. A grey mist appeared around the blade.

His engine was eerily quiet as he accelerated to top speed in a second flat. He couldn't hold back a slight smirk: his ride was, if he must say so himself, a masterpiece of tinker-technology. Two pipes extended from the back and the rockets blasted as he balanced on his back wheel, sending him into the air like he'd hit a jump.

In a move that was more at home in a BMX competition than a parahuman battle, he swung his halberd in one hand and grabbed the girl with the other. Lung _roared_ as his hand was cleanly separated from his arm. Armsmaster landed but didn't slow, curving into a side street at the soonest opportunity. He felt the heat on his face as Lung created even more fire, incinerating a whole street of houses with one breath attack. The girl wrapped her hands around his waist and squeezed, rather harder than necessary. He winced slightly, at least a brute then. Was she angry? Scared? He cursed his lack of insight into the minds of teenage girls. Communication had never been his strong suit.

He slipped through shortcuts and side-streets like he'd lived here his entire life, thanks in no small part to the GPS he'd installed in his mask. They lost Lung, mostly because he seemed more concerned with being enraged at the loss of his hand than following them.

He curved once more, and a mess of hastily set up tents and dozens of matts opened up before them. People with horrible burns lay upon them, Panacea moving between them feverishly, still in her pajamas. He could spot several heroes, Triumph, Dauntless and Miss Militia not the least among them. Some of the Wards were present as well, huddled together.

"Armsmaster!" Miss Militia called in her fluid, exotic accent. "Where have you been?"

"I was collecting some info on how far along Lung was into his transformation, and managed to get this…" He didn't know what to call her. Hero? Vigilante? She didn't even wear a mask. With his usual eloquence, he managed to call her the most demeaning thing that came to mind, "girl. She will tell us the details of how things got this bad."

Taylor got off the bike in one, smooth, motion. She glanced at Armsmaster, taking him in. This was the closest she'd ever been to such an important hero. She didn't feel like she thought she would. She wasn't impressed, in fact more than anything she felt irritated. "Will she? Perhaps you should ask her, instead of speaking of her in the third person. And the name's not girl. My name is Taylor."

Miss Militia intervened, seeing the situation already start to degrade. "Taylor, then. Can you tell us what happened? Please, the better we understand the situation, the faster we can end it."

"I came upon Lung and Oni Lee fighting some Empire 88 capes. I scared off the skinheads and fought with them. I almost had him," she sent a sharp glare at Armsmaster, "before you and your ilk intervened." Miss Militia frowned at the hostility.

Armsmaster countered stoically, "You were going to die. I saved your life. Gi—Taylor. Do you have any idea what you've caused? Hundreds of people are dead! That's a conservative estimate. The Protectorate has classified Lung an S-Class threat. Heroes from all around the US will be coming to—"

Miss Militia interrupted him. "No. PRT headquarters has declared the situation too volatile and dismissed standard S-Class protocol as counterproductive. More capes would only escalate the situation, which would only make Lung more powerful and dangerous."

"What! What do they expect us to do then? Just let him continue his rampage while thousands die?" Miss Militia took a deep breath, as if she had the same concerns, and looked him in the eye.

"Yes. Capes on site are to assist with evacuations, but are not to engage Lung under any circumstances. If we turn this into a battle, not only will we have hero casualties on the scale of an Endbringer attack, but Lung might turn into a threat to the entire country instead of merely one city. We have not yet seen if his power has any observable limit." She said this as a soldier might, relaying orders even as he could see the disapproval she barely concealed.

He felt a cold emptiness slowly growing in his gut. "So they're sacrificing us to sate Lung's anger?"

Miss Militia's eyes narrowed in distaste, "Brockton Bay is considered an unfortunate but necessary loss. They will use the inter-city missiles once he's run out of steam and is once again vulnerable." Brandish, in her white and orange costume, approached them, Glory Girl and an exhausted Panacea behind her. Knowing Panacea, her sister had forced her to take a short break.

"We're going to have to move camp soon. We're too close, even for an emergency ward. We've directed those who are healed to endbringer shelters on south side." She glanced at Taylor, inconspicuous in her golden armor and clearly having been in a fight, if her messy hair and dented armor was any indication. "Any updates?"

Miss Militia shook her head.

Glory Girl grit her teeth, "Mom, we don't need to listen to the Protectorate! We've fought Endbringers, we can fight Lung!"

Brandish grabbed her daughter's shoulders, "Trust me honey, I understand. I want to help too. But I can't allow you to endanger yourself like that. You're still young… I was there, in Japan, when Leviathan attacked. That was the last time Lung was like this. He fought Leviathan, and he _won_. He didn't kill him, nothing can, but he _won_. And if we fight him, he'll only get stronger… as much as it hurts me to say this, the Protectorate is right. For once. The only thing we can do is make sure evacuation goes smoothly and protect your sister so she can save as many lives as possible."

Glory Girl snarled, "But Mom—"

Laughter. Someone was laughing. The girl in the golden armor stood apart, her hands holding her belly as laughed, full and loud. She quieted, gradually, looking half amused and half disgusted as she sneered down at them. "You people are pathetic. You allow yourselves to be ruled by fears and bureaucracy. This is everything that's wrong with the system as it exists. _Humans_, safe in their offices a million miles away, control you out of fear, unable to understand even an iota of what's really going on. People who could've made a difference are cowed into inaction." Images came to mind, of indifferent teachers and apathetic students, watching but unmoving as she suffered under her bullies thumbs, every _fucking _day.

She turned around and took a step, before pausing. "Go, rats. Scurry to safety, for a dragon is on the hunt. You don't belong here."

She closed her eyes, searching for _mobility. _She couldn't beat Lung in a contest of strength, and it would be stupid to try. But she could outmaneuver him. She had to.

A golden pool of light, the size of a house, appeared behind her. From within her vault came a machine straight out of indian mythology, a dream that wouldn't be out of place in a science fiction movie. A golden jet, a single throne in its center. Glowing green wings like a dragonfly's allowing it to hover five feet off the ground. By all modern conventions of aerodynamics, it wouldn't be able to fly, and even if it did no pilot would be able to survive sitting in the throne at any reasonable height. Her power supplied it's name: Vimana.

Taylor smiled.

She took another step forward— "Wait!"

She turned around to find Panacea, the premier healer in the world, looking at her with a determined glint in her eyes. "Let me heal you."

Taylor stared at her, trying to determine if she could be trusted. Panacea could knock her out or paralyze her as well as she could heal her. Panacea lifted her chin stubbornly, "I want to heal you."

"Amy!" Brandish started.

Taylor kept staring at her, until Panacea looked away from her confident red eyes. Then she smiled, "Very well."

Panacea smiled too, and lifted her hand to Taylor's forehead, since everything but her head was covered in armor. She started to heal her—and paused, her eyebrows furrowed. "I can't. I can't even sense your biology, something is stopping me."

"So it's true," Taylor mused. "I had suspected it, but I wasn't completely sure."

"What is it? What's stopping me?"

"It seems my armor is not only extremely useful in protecting me from physical attacks, but also lends me a certain amount of protection from powers as well. The reason you couldn't alter my biology even with skin-to-skin contact was because my armor functions by surrounding me within a forcefield."

"A power nullification ability…" Armsmaster murmured. What didn't this girl have in her bag of tricks? Who did she think she was, tinker Eidolon?

Amy looked slightly disappointed. The one person she really, truly wanted to heal and her power was useless? It's not that she didn't want to help the people who came to her for healing. But that was something she had to do. She had no choice.

This was her choice. No one had asked her to heal this arrogant girl in golden armor that somehow reminded her of Victoria. It wasn't in looks that they were especially similar...it was this aura they had about them. Something awe inspiring, something charismatic. Just a presence they had, that enveloped everyone they surrounded themselves with.

Taylor placed her hand on Amy's and placed it back on her forehead. "It's okay, Amy. I trust you. Do not betray that trust." Her armor glowed, and Amy closed her eyes. She opened them again and blushed bright red, from head to toe. Taylor stood, completely naked, no shame whatsoever in her face or posture. She heard Victoria gasp behind her.

Amy felt her eyes drift slightly to the girls bosom, before she shook her head and tried to concentrate. It wouldn't surprise her to hear she had steam coming from her ears. She analyzed Taylor's body, feeling the great strength in her deceptively slight arms and legs. Any injuries were extremely superficial, perhaps a bruise or two where her armor had been dented. Amy healed them nonetheless and concentrated on the true problem.

She was exhausted. Mentally and physically, her body was unused to this kind of intense activity. Amy could clear her mind with a thought...just a tweak. No. That was against the Rules. Instead, she converted what little fat existed in Taylor's toned body into energy, that is to say, sugar, along with a few choice vitamins and neurotransmitters. That would keep her alert for hours, possibly days. She cleared her muscles of lactic acid and healed them of whatever strains existed. Taylor breathed deeper, as if a weight she hadn't known existed had been lifted from her shoulders.

Panacea took her hand back, still blushing deeply. Taylor got decent again, her armor appearing around her. It still had dents, but they had already mended a tad. Her treasures were repaired the longer they spent in the vault, though she suspected an item that was truly damaged might take months or years to regain full functionality.

"You have my gratitude, Amy Dallon."

The girl in the golden armor once again turned around and jumped into her vimana, settling down on the throne in a relaxed, regal posture. She didn't spare the heroes a glance as the vimana's wings glowed and lifted further from the earth, before speeding off with the distinct sound of the sound barrier breaking. The heroes watched her go.

/

Flying was the best feeling in the world. Nothing could compare to it. Her vimana responded to her thoughts, twirling, flipping, accelerating on a whim. This was true freedom: the power of mobility, the ability to go _anywhere_, to just get up and leave. To be one with the winds, powerful as a hurricane and soft as a summer breeze as your heart desired. Taylor laughed, and it was the laugh of a child: delighted, free of any restraint or self-consciousness.

But she did have a purpose. She moved at the speed of thought, dashing towards the living personification of fire that was Lung. He was a moving inferno, destroying entire blocks with a flick of his tail and a fiery roar. She sped through the fire, completely unaffected, until she was passing directly in front of his eyes. Time seemed to slow as their eyes met, one an all-consuming rage and the other a sharp, dangerous anger. He swiped at her and she curved upwards, soaring into the sky, her cheek resting in her hand as she relaxed on her throne. The dragon followed, leaving the city in peace. On fire, but besides that, extremely peaceful.

The sky was painted red by Lung's flames, illuminating the city in a parody of true daylight. The dragon raced after her as they flew higher and higher, his wingbeats the only sound. He suddenly sped up and took a grab at her. Taylor twisted out of the way and flew down his back, launching swords along his spine. Lung screamed in outrage and twisted, trying to bite her with his draconic jaw. Taylor felt him literally breathing down her neck before she kicked it into high gear and maneuvered into a position that didn't smell like burning corpses.

This was still too dangerous. Not for her, but for the city below them. As of this moment, her plan basically amounted to 'hit him until something sticks', but even if she succeeded his fall could damage what little remained of Brockton Bay's infrastructure. Her city's infrastructure. The flames of her outrage were reignited at the thought this beast had the impunity to damager _her_ city. She'd show him what happened when you broke what belonged to her.

He was gaining on her and opened a jaw large enough to swallow her whole. Pools of golden light appeared around her aircraft and launched some choice swords down the back of his throat. His mouth snapped shut after he howled in pain. That was more like it. She accelerated in the direction of the ocean, and didn't stop until Brockton Bay was a glowing dot in the distance.

What ensued was a game of cat and mouse on an epic scale, with Lung ineffectually trying to catch her while she futilely struck him with magnificent weapons he healed from in seconds. He breathed fire to obscure her vision and appeared right in front of her, throwing his hands together in an awesome clap that would've squished her between his claws. She backpedaled, flying backwards as easily as she did forward. Meanwhile, Lung kept expanding, getting bigger and bigger, gaining supplementary wings and arms, until Taylor had to wonder how his body was even supporting itself under that much _mass_. Explosions that could be seen from Brockton Bay lit up the sky as she threw more and more devastating weapons.

But just overpowering him seemed useless. Taylor wasn't trying tooverpower him. She was trying to _kill_ him. So she cultivated that bloodlust. It pounded in her skull, overflowed from her chest, and into her veins. She gritted her teeth, a snarl barely reigned in. Yes. This was what she needed. An outlet. She still had so much anger festering inside of her. An ugly, violent anger.

It was that anger that resonated with the treasures she needed. Not the powerful ones, but the deadly ones, the ones whose only purpose was to _kill_, and _kill,_ and _kill_ until they drowned in the blood of their enemies.

Among them, a spear jumped out at her. It was a rabid dog, mad with its own bloodlust, but it was loyal. Unlike some of these weapons, it wouldn't hurt its wielder in its attempts to cause destruction.

She stood from her throne, pulling the blood red spear from a portal by her side. She balanced it in her hands, getting a feel for it's length and weight. It's name eagerly jumped to the forefront of her mind.

_Gáe __Bolg_. It roughly translated to "Spear of Mortal Pain", or "Death Spear". Used by Cuchulainn, the hound of Ulster, it would always strike the heart, and it's wounds would not heal. Charming.

She lifted it above her head, her Vimana working on auto-pilot to avoid Lung as best it could. Still, best not to test exactly how competent it was. Almost against her will, she heard her lips say

"_Gáe_—"

The air froze and neither opponent breathed, the tension almost too great to move. The pure, vindictive, all-encompassing _hate _was unlike anything either had experienced before. It wasn't a human hate. Just an ancient, omnidirectional bloodlust. And it demanded to be felt.

"—_Bolg!_"

Lung wasn't frozen for long, dropping out of the sky to avoid the deadly spear. If it could be called that. It more closely resemble a blood red laser as it moved with speed surpassing a bullet, chasing Lung like a dog on the hunt. The red blur moved in hard, unnatural angles, never wavering, and Lung's hulking form wasn't nearly agile enough to avoid doom for more than a instant.

Nonetheless, Taylor saw the beast's eyes widen when the spear struck. The cloak of fire that surrounded him disappeared, and his two great pairs of wings ceased movement. His raging eyes closed. He started to drop out of the sky. Dead.

Until the flames exploded back into existence, the great wings straightened, and Lung's eyes opened to reveal baleful scarlet iris. Taylor was surprised, but probably not as much as she should be. She examined him with a critical eye. Like her power had indicated, the wound on his chest wasn't healing in the slightest. Could he really be functioning without a heart? But no, Taylor discarded that hypothesis as quickly as it formed. A much more likely possibility occurred to her.

As Lung grew, so did the number of limbs he possessed. Case in point, he now had two pairs of wings and four arms. But as he grew, was he also gaining supplementary organs in order to support his growing mass? Did he now have two hearts? Three?

Taylor felt laughter bubble up from within, hysterical. She declared, "More than one heart? Lung, you truly are a monster." She smiled at him like it was a complement, but her smile was sharp, predatory. Confident. "Come then, Lung. Let us see which of us is the bigger monster!"

She moved up again, and he followed with unnatural agility for his lumbering size. He blew fire as a makeshift flash-grenade to blind her and she flipped so she was upside down, flying parallel to the ground and through some mystery not simply falling out of her throne into the deep dark ocean. He turned too, slower, and was flying just below and slightly ahead of her.

She was getting tired of this game. It was time to end this, but she'd need something surprising, unexpected. Something incredibly risky. A golden portal appeared next to her and she unsheathed the sword it held within it. The sword was comfortable in her grip. She'd used it before, to hurt Lung. Gram, the dragon slaying sword. Last time, she'd damaged him deeply, that was why he'd grown so fast. As a result of the battle's escalation. But she'd been too general. Taylor was never really a fan of zombie movies, but if they had taught her anything, it to aim for the head. At least, that was the idea.

What she was about to do would either be incredibly stupid or incredibly effective. Maybe it'd be both. Maybe it'd be effectively stupid. She took another deep, shuddering breath. There was no time for fear. She wasn't that person anymore. She smiled, only slightly self-deprecating. Well, she'd always wondered what it would be like to skydive, hadn't she?

Taylor jumped from the safety of her ship, Gram in hand. She twirled from soaring towards him head first to an upright position, feet towards him. The sword was held in a two-handed grip, also pointed directly at his big, serpentine head. It was already glowing with it's poisonous blue light, leaving a bright trail wherever it passed. Her knees bent, bracing for impact.

She hit him like a cannonball, knocking him straight out of the sky. That was mostly Gram at work, for as soon as she plunged the blade into his skull it shined painfully bright and energy surged. The blue light emitted from his eyes and mouth as his head exploded, and Taylor was left tumbling through the air with a headless dragon. She grabbed on to a flap of neck skin and pulled herself towards the body, still hurling through the air.

A golden portal appeared below her and the vimana came through it. Taylor pushed off the dead body, landing on the ship hard enough to bring her to her knees. She exhaled deeply, hearing a splash as the body hit the water. That had been almost fun, in a life-threatening kind of way. She'd have to celebrate later, because while things weren't optimal, they were going well. The world would finally realize her greatness.

Sure Brockton Bay was half-burned to the ground, but from that ash a phoenix would grow. She'd make it better, in every way. Until she was proud to call it her city. She sat back down on her throne, turning her ship in the direction of Brockton Bay when she heard an earth-trembling roar. Really? That was the last time she used Zombie-movie logic in a real life situation.

Lung exploded from the water, freshly grown skull in place, and they rejoined their game of cat and mouse. Lung was bigger now, but his speed frankly hadn't improved much, and the dynamic of the fight stayed much the same. She smirked from her throne. This was entertainment. Testing herself against a powerful opponent, that was when she felt most alive. But nothing could last forever.

Entertaining as this game was, she needed to step it up. She needed to put Lung at a disadvantage. She had a massive advantage in agility while in the air, but Lung wasn't half-bad himself. Since he was 'it' in this explosive little game of tag, she could control the environment and he had no choice but to follow after her. So she chose the one place he lost his favorite toy. She twisted until she was perpendicular with the surface of the ocean and rushed down. Lung, after a hesitation that brought a smile to her face, followed after.

She hit the ocean seamlessly, the forcefield around her throne that prevented excess wind from bothering her during flight keeping the water from enveloping her. The wings of her vimana changed slightly, making themselves smaller as more of the same material expanded from the back of her machine in an elegant imitation of a tail. She barely slowed.

Lung, meanwhile, hit the water with so much force gigantic waves formed in all directions. The sound alone shook Taylor from her contemplation of her ship's underwater amendments. He looked around, his eyes unadapted for underwater hunting, but she wasn't exactly subtle. He used pyrokinesis and threw balls of fire at her. _Underwater_.

...What total bullshit.

She countered with some projectiles of her own, and decided that she just wasn't thinking big enough. Her power had supplied her with everything she'd needed since she got it. If her arms were insufficient, she just needed to think _bigger_.

That's when her power decided to inform her that her Vimana had had access to what amounted to nuclear warheads the entire fight.

Well, that was frustrating. Her power provided great firepower, but just because she had access to the best weapons in the world didn't mean she necessarily knew how to use them with any degree skill. Though, she'd noted, the longer she used any one weapon, the more information her power provided her with. Like the fact that she'd had access to nuclear weapons this whole fucking time.

That might be enough to finally end this pest. But first, she needed to get some distance.

She visualized light, traveling faster than any natural being in existence. Her ship rocketed out of the water at record speeds, so fast that she slammed back in her throne, feeling inertia for the first time. More distance. She needed more distance. She was a comet, burning through the air at impossible speeds. The air started to thin, and she looked down at Lung, the great beast nothing but a spec to her eyes. Good enough. Now how to do this?

Her vimana had responded to her thoughts so far. In fact, at times it almost seemed to respond to a thought before she was even consciously aware of it. Reading her subconscious desires? That could be dangerous, if she wasn't careful about it. Closing her eyes, she visualized the weapons of mass destruction.

_Aim_.

A missile that more closely resembled a rounded obelisk complete with archaic symbols peaked out of the front of her vehicle.

_Fire_.

Strange as the missile was, it shot like any other. That is to say, _fast_. Lung had started coming after her, but less than three seconds had passed since she'd exited the water. He was too late.

_BOOM!_

Taylor hid her eyes behind her hand, trying to block the light from what to residents of Brockton Bay may have looked like a very early dawn. Even through her vimana's protections she felt the heat on her face.

Taylor didn't want to believe anything but an Endbringer could survive that, but she hadn't written Lung off yet. She'd made that mistake twice. She wouldn't underestimate the same opponent three times, no matter how much her ego wanted to dismiss him as a threat. Cautiously, she drifted downward, protected from the radiation by her vimana. She tried to see him through the burning steam that still came off the ocean, which if she wasn't seeing things was boiling. Maybe that had been overkill?

In a parody of their earlier battle, Lung reached out of the boiling water with a hand like a skyscraper. A skull-like head, most likely just regenerated, burst through the water without a jaw. Okay, this was just getting ridiculous. Would nothing put him down? She'd hit him with dragon slaying swords and dropped a fucking _nuke _on him. He'd lost his head _twice_. And here he was, looking better than ever. Well, that wasn't true, strictly speaking. His arm was a melted hunk of flesh, the scales leaking like liquid silver. It looked incredibly painful...but he was still moving. Even half dead, he was still _fighting_.

She easily moved out of the way, his burnt crispy muscles and mind-boggling size apparently not conducive to rapid movement. Meanwhile, his skull gained red, hate-filled eyes as scales started regenerating from his neck up. He flew from the water, passing overhead, casting an impossible shadow. His wingspan was huge, but Taylor doubted any sized wingspan would hold him aloft at this point. No, this had to be some kind quirk of his power. He was heading towards Brockton Bay.

A thought occurred to her.

...Lung was very probably the largest living being that the planet had ever seen by this point.

Self-doubt started to creep in on her, for the first time since she'd acquired her powers. But was there anything she could do, in the face of such impossible power? Anything she hit him with just made him stronger. Her most potent weapons couldn't put him down for any meaningful amount of time.

Had she been wrong? Was Lung impossible to beat? Had she overstepped, by playing with him, by giving him the time to truly ramp up? Maybe she should've listened to the heroes, with way more experience than her. Maybe she should've listened to Lung in the first place, and never challenged such a powerful enemy. Maybe she should've listened to Emma, and Sophia, and Madison, and just _died_ like the pathetic worm she was.

Maybe they could all go fuck themselves. She was Taylor fucking Herbert, and she does not lose. She _couldn't_ lose, or she'd just fall into mediocrity, go back to being a victim. And that was a fate worse than death.

There had to be something. Her vault contained all the treasures in the world. There was nothing of value that couldn't be found in her vault. She sunk deep into her consciousness, searching for the power that would let her end this situation. She went deeper than she'd ever went before, looking for the core of her powers. Beautiful treasures arrayed before her, as numerous as the stars in the sky, but they were all useless.

Her power was useless here, her treasures worth _jack-fucking shit_. _She_ was useless. And now Lung, the stupid beast, would tear down her city, and kill everyone this side of the US. There was nothing she could do about it. She might as well be a normal human.

She looked up, at Lung's impossibly large body, moving slowly through the sky. She realized, in the back of her mind, that he wasn't actually moving slowly, he was just that big. She didn't have the power to stop him. At least, not directly.

But maybe, if she gave herself up, he would stop. Taylor had started this, after all. And she could end it. It was a thin hope, admittedly. It was more than likely he'd just kill her and continue his rampage. But it was something, and Taylor had always been the type of person that _acted_, even if that act meant sacrificing herself. She couldn't just do nothing.

Her confidence grew, now that she had a goal, a mission. Something she could work towards. Her ship sped off, towards Brockton Bay.

/

A dragon's head, inconceivably large, looked out onto Brockton Bay with hate-filled eyes. He didn't know who he was, but he knew pain. Pain was all he'd ever felt. And now, he would release that pain outwards, with his fire.

A speck appeared before him. It called out a name, and something in the dragon paused.

What had it said?

He looked at the spec again, and heard, "Lung!"

That jogged something in the dragon's mind. This spec knew who he was. He stopped flying and landed, his weight crushing everything beneath him. The spec brought itself back to eye level. It spoke, and the dragon tried to understand. Most was gibberish, but he managed to understand key words.

'Attack'

'Battle'

Those were words it remembered.

'Save'

The spec was desperate.

'Sacrifice'

The dragon was bored of the spec, now. Understanding words was hard. What did he care, what a spec had to say? He started to move forward, and the spec stayed stubbornly in place, shooting pinpricks that _hurt_.

Lung was angry. He blew fire on the spec, intending to incinerate it where it stood. But the spec was unaffected by Lung's flame, and continued to attempt to get his attention. But he was done with the spec. He opened his mouth, and brought it down carefully so it would crush the spec.

/

So this was how she'd die, then? Sacrificing herself to an absurdly large dragon in a futile attempt to save her burning city, just days after getting her powers? Destroyed by her own arrogance?

She wasn't suicidal. The last few days were the best she'd ever had. It was heartbreakingly disappointing that her adventure would end so soon. She felt like her story had barely begun, that her whole life was still ahead of her. But would that life be worth living, knowing she'd sat back and done nothing while a monster destroyed what belonged to her? That she was as bad as all those who'd sat back and said nothing while she was humiliated?

No. That just wasn't who she was, now or even before. So she surrendered, sacrificing herself. A guilty martyr.

She supposed, no matter what heights they reached, they'd always be human. The chains of mortality weren't something we could shuck off, even with powers. Taylor would die. Lung would too, eventually.

And as the jaws of death descended, and she came to terms with her own mortality, when all hope was lost and she still stood with dignity in the face of man's inevitable fate, that's when she felt it. A sudden clarity. An idea, a concept, a treasure she'd been unable to understand or perceive. The answer.

"Enkidu!"

Enkidu, the only friend of Gilgamesh, the first hero to ever ascend into legend. Enkidu, who'd been condemned to die by the gods. Enkidu, who despite having the power to contend with the Bull of Heaven, the gods greatest weapon, still died an ignoble death. Still suffered from mortality, man's greatest obstacle.

It was Enkidu who best epitomized the inevitability of the human condition. Who best symbolized the dark specter that lurked in every man's soul, patiently watching for the day when the screen goes black. Enkidu was the quiet, unsettling knowledge that no matter how high you reach, no matter how great you become, you'll still be condemned to die like a dog. Human.

It was only when she realized her own mortality that she could use these chains. The chains that bind humans, the chains of mortality. The Chains of Enkidu. And what was man's greatest weakness, death, the void, became her greatest strength.

Golden portals appeared around the dragon and from them chains flew, twisting and binding Lung's ankles, his wrists, his neck, through his jaw and around his wings, until the behemoth stood completely still, unable to move through unbreakable chains so much smaller than him. He struggled and roared, fire exploding into existence around him, but the chains were unmoved, pristine. And then he started to shrink, slowly at first, but then he was collapsing in on himself, the mass disappearing until he floated in the air, bound in chains, human.

Taylor stared at the man, who though large was an insect next to what he'd been. Would he ever reach those heights again? Would he be forever a shadow, chasing after a memory of omnipotence? She floated forward on her Vimana, and the unconscious man woke, looking up to stare at her.

His eyes showed nothing. "Who...am I?" Asked the dragon.

"You are Lung." Taylor replied. She stared at the man, feeling his innocence and ignorance and trying to consolidate it with the harsh man she'd met and the even harsher dragon he'd become. "And you are my servant."

**/**

Chains of Enkidu: A noble phantasm created by humanity's greatest fear: death. It imposes the concept of "mortality" on elevated beings, nullifying their powers. (Enkidu's been altered to fit the worm setting, since 'Divinity' doesn't exist in the wormverse, it instead restrains the closest thing in the setting, shards. Terribly broken, I know. But again, Gilgamesh is made to be broken.

I wasn't quite sure how to play it, at first. First I thought: Anything that isn't human. That'd be the Endbringer's and Scion.

But Endbringer's and Scion don't share anything, the Endbringers don't have shards and Scion's nothing but shards. So I decided, eventually, that it would restrain Shard's powers, and realized it wouldn't mean she'd end all fights she gets into with parahumans. Gilgamesh is terribly broken and technically could defeat anything in the setting by getting serious and using Ea. But he doesn't. It's extremely rare that he finds opponents who he actually goes all out against and uses Ea and Enkidu. That's his arrogance speaking.

Seeing as Gil!Taylor and Gilgamesh share that trait, keeping fights interesting is a simple matter of them underestimating their opponents.

I'm aware a lot of people might not be thrilled by Enkidu's brokenness, but be aware it is very much a "trump card", and not omnipotent. A suitably mobile enemy could dodge it, and Scion, if he stops playing around and gets serious, could simply move through dimensions.

Also, this means that Enkidu has absolutely no effect on Endbringers.)


End file.
